


God Help the Outcasts or Aziraphale Just Might

by NichePastiche



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Anxiety, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Bible, Bible Quotes, Character of Faith, Christian Character, Christian Holidays, Christianity, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Churches & Cathedrals, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crying, Crying Crowley (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Easter, Emotional Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Existential Angst, Fluff and Angst, God's Love, Good Friday, Holidays, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hymns, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Organized Religion, Panic Attacks, Pet Names, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prayer, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protestant Character, Queer Christian Themes, Queer Themes, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sola Fide, Spiritual Violence, blatant disregard for London geography, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 12:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NichePastiche/pseuds/NichePastiche
Summary: Aziraphale was a bit of a bastard sometimes, true. But that was not what happened here. Not entirely. This was an account of the time he decided that no, he was not required to be the bigger person. Not today. Not after everything they had been through.The following was not the work of an angel of the Lord. It was the work of a man shaped being who had been pushed that last bit too far and was willing to risk being slightly petty. After experiencing a few thousand years of micro aggressions, it was only a matter of time before he eventually reached a breaking point.





	God Help the Outcasts or Aziraphale Just Might

Aziraphale was a bit of a bastard sometimes, true. But that is not what happened here. Not entirely. This is an account of the time he decided that no, he was not required to be the bigger person. Not today. Not after everything.

The following is not the work of an angel of the lord, this was a man shaped being who had been pushed that last bit too far and was willing to risk being slightly petty. After experiencing a few thousand years of micro aggressions it was only a matter of time before he eventually reached a breaking point. 

Aziraphale had heard there was going to be a lovely little church service today with a proper choir instead of that Hillsong business that seemed so popular lately. The service was being held outside due to ongoing renovations. it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Aziraphale had been pleasantly surprised when he broached the topic only to have Crowley be the one to suggest they attend.

For obvious reasons, not the least of which was the nasty looks his sunglasses caused when he wore them indoors, Crowley actively avoided setting foot inside churches.

Particularly on days when there were people there.

But there was still something to be said for the comfort of a familiar old hymn.

On their very first Christmas Eve as a couple, Crowley had suggested to go on a walk together. It was an unusual choice for a cold December evening, but they were an unusual couple. Aziraphale had agreed, anticipating a stroll through the park.

Instead, they had taken a detour and were walking, neither in a park full of Christmas lights and trees, nor among storefronts covered in garish holiday decorations with Crowley stopping to point out the various prepackaged varieties of commercialized false cheer and frantic last minute shoppers.

No.

Instead, they did something they’d both longed to do for some time, Crowley offered Aziraphale his arm and didn’t even bother disguising his smile as they walked arm in arm, like the pair of victorian gentlemen they’d never truly had the chance to be. In shared silence, they walked down that unfamiliar version of a distantly familiar street. Aziraphale payed little attention to their surroundings. He was too caught up in the fact they could finally have this. And more. 

It wasn’t until they stopped, just outside the door of the first church that night that Aziraphale understood.

Organ music and voices wafted through the doors and windows and into the cold air of the street around them. The familiar strains of living voices raised in song was so unlike that of a recording. The imperfect signing all the more beautiful for it’s imperfections. There, outside a church neither could truly call home, Crowley kissed him. It was not the first time they had kissed, but it felt different somehow. When they parted, they did not go far. Foreheads still touching, Crowley raised one of Aziraphale’s gloved hands to his lips in an affectionate parody of a bygone era. “I missed this…” Crowley whispered, half to himself, half an apology for his time spent sleeping. Aziraphale was still trying to think of a response when Crowley did the same with the other hand, until he held both clasped between his own. Foreheads still touching, breath mingling on the cold air, the first few measures of another song started and Crowley’s voice joined them in a quiet accompaniment.

“Adeste, fideles, laeti triumphantes…” The words so familiar as to be empty of all meaning sounded new in that hushed, off key voice, shaped by lips Aziraphale could finally kiss without fear of reprisal.

They had repeated this odd, unspoken ritual outside several churches that night. There were several down this particular street, in a variety of denominations. The evening passed in a dreamlike blur of song.

“…A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices….On a cold winter’s night that was so deep…. The hopes and fears of all the years….Oh tidings of comfort and joy”

Standing there next to Crowley that Christmas eve, Aziraphale was at a loss for words. Crowley was smiling at him, but it was a timid broken thing.

Christmas eve each year was the only time Crowley would go near a church. And every year, they would sing together quietly, on the outskirts of things. Barred from entering those places of warmth and not daring to raise their voices in worship too loudly lest they be asked to stop.

But Crowley had still wanted the chance to honor the the memory of a friend and Aziraphale had been so certain this Good Friday service was the perfect opportunity. The plan was that hopefully this would be a step towards finding some closure that was several thousand years overdue.

Unfortunately things did not go as planned. Not even remotely.

As usual, it was the unexpected human element that went awry.

If it were anything else, plans could have been adjusted, but not this time.

Today’s plans had no room to spare for the sort of conversation going on one row in front of them. Aziraphale tried to wait it out he truly did. Patience was a virtue after all, but even an angel’s patience ran out eventually.

Oblivious to the discomfort she caused, the woman in the row ahead of them kept talking to her friend, earning more than a few glares from other humans nearby.

Undeterred, she continued speaking, “It's okay to be homosexual as long as they don’t act on it. It said so in Romans. And Jesus said 'Hate the sin love the sinner.'" She said this as if she were somehow being accepting by hating people as a group rather than as individuals.

Crowley, who was already feeling unwelcome to begin with, stood up while grabbing Aziraphale's sleeve and said "Angel, let's go. This was a bad idea. I'm sorry I suggested it."

Aziraphale stood, but would not budge. Instead, he politely tapped the woman on the shoulder to get her attention.

Doing his best to refrain from letting any truely Righteous Fury enter his voice, Aziraphale calmly and politely resigned himself to reducing her argument into tiny useless shreds instead. She was lucky he preferred to wage his battles with words, despite being a capable enough swordsman.

"Well, you see” the angel’s voice was dangerously polite, “Romans was a series of letters written by an asexual man and the verse I'm willing to assume you're trying to reference was either about ritual temple prostitution involving people who really were not in a position to give consent. Or did you mean the verse about something involving a monetary transaction and pederasty? Either way, my husband and I couldn't help but overhear and I simply had to say something."

She stared at him, mouth opening and closing a bit like a fish, but no words came out. Azirapahle considered this a marked improvement.

The angel wasn't done yet, but Crowley was getting more insistent about leaving, and however petty he felt, Crowley was more important. Aziraphale was, however, still just enough of a bastard to be worth liking. As such, he really did have to make just a few more points. But he would be quick about it. Not content with merely silencing her, he continued, “And I think you’ll find it’s not Jesus who said that quote about hating the sin. It was a rather famous Hindu fellow over in India. Gandhi, perhaps you've heard of him?”

"Aziraphale..." Crowley cautioned. He was Already scolding him for something Aziraphale hadn't even done yet, although he fully planned to.

With a smile a bit like a shark, Aziraphale bid farewell, "I really should be going, now. My husband and I have decided this is rather a waste of our time. Time which I now plan to spend giving him an absolutely amazing blowjob, after all as it says in, Mathew 15:11 'it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but what comes out of the mouth; this defiles a person.'"

And with that, he turned, joined hands with Crowley, and left.

"Have I told you how much I love you today, Angel?" Crowley said once they were seated safely in the Bentley.

"No but I suspect you will be telling me quite loudly and enthusiastically in the near future. I was serious about that blowjob, my dear."

"Great, now I have to figure out how to focus on driving. Thanks for that, angel."

Aziraphale knew he had been less than totally dignified in his response to that mess, but could not bring himself to care.

Aziraphale had personally suffered the pain and self loathing that came from those he trusted telling him that a loving God would condemned him for who he loved. It had taken him six thousand years to work up the courage to contradict them, but that was a luxury of time humans simply did not have. Thus, Aziraphale felt well within his rights for intentionally setting out to publicly humiliate that woman, even if he had done so for selfish reasons.

And while he could _technically_ have chosen to quote the Bible in a way that was free of double entendre, he hadn't entirely misquoted it either. He WAS calling her a hypocrite and saying that those words were evil. He just...chose to allow himself to use a pun. After all, if one chose to be all "what would Jesus do" about things, and were familiar with the original Aramaic, Jesus made his fair share of puns.

Alright, so perhaps there were better ways he could have handled that, but Aziraphale was not about to let anyone drive even one sheep from the flock if he could help it.

And on Good Friday, of all days! The nerve!

But even disregarding the humans, he couldn't let them drive Crowley away like that either. This man-shaped-being was his husband! They'd made vows to love, comfort, and honor one another. The fact they cherished each other went without saying, really, but they had said so anyway.

And so Aziraphale considered it his duty as a husband to be just enough of a bastard to be worth marrying. Because Aziraphale had always known, deep down, that Crowley had a spark of goodness in him.

Aziraphale had realized that fairly early on in their acquaintance, and immediately buried it away in the furthest corners of his heart. That knowledge was always on the edge of his awareness but he spent millennia repeating misguided, hateful rhetoric to himself and desperately trying to believe in policy decisions that made him feel ill. Aziraphale had been so afraid to look at his feelings for so long. He had buried himself under so many masks that by the time he was ready to look himself in the face, he needed help figuring out which face was really his.

Aziraphale’s heart still wore the scars of years of misplaced trust in an organization that had lost sight of the very love and compassion it claimed to value. Those scars might never heal completely, but with time he hoped they’d hurt less.

His playwright friend back in Elizabethan England had been on the right track in The Merchant of Venice when he pointed out how "The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose." Aziraphale had argued otherwise at the time, but he hadn’t really understood the full meaning of those words.

He did now.

Aziraphale had grown to realize over the years that those claiming to speak for the Lord were among the most prone to twisting scripture like a sadist might twist a knife stabbed into your heart.

But as much as he was hurting, it paled in comparison to Crowley.

Aziraphale had been trying to broach the topic since their argument in the Gazebo. The one before Aziraphale had been inconveniently discorporated. Needless to say he’d been less than successful.

The timing had been less than ideal, and it was a painful subject for all involved. Crowley had always seemed so certain he was unforgivable in the eyes of the Lord, but Aziraphale wasn’t so sure anymore. He had been rereading the Bible lately, and it felt like he was seeing it for the first time. Or rather, understanding it for the first time. Aziraphale had seen much of it first hand, before it was ever set to paper, but even at the time he had acquired most of his news about The Good News via word of mouth. That was just how things were back then.

Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned his thoughts to Crowley yet, but he had been planning to this afternoon. Unfortunately, this entire upsetting business had been a major setback in that regard. Thankfully, Aziraphale had plenty of time now, and it was the least he could do after everything Crowley had done for him.

Those first few weeks after the world didn’t end, when everything felt new and unknown, Aziraphale and Crowley sought refuge in each other.

The overwhelming newness of it all made itself known on the same night they celebrated the continuation of the world.

They had scarcely even left the Ritz when Crowley was suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer reality of their situation. They were free. There was no one to punish them for failure to conform to expectations. They didn’t have to hide anymore.

Crowley was holding the door for the angel as they left the Ritz when suddenly he could barely stand. He made it a few steps out the door before something about the way the light of the streetlights at night illuminated Aziraphale’s face took away what little strength he had left.

Crowley couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t seem to remember that he didn’t actually need to breathe. He reached out blindly to brace himself against something, only to have Aziraphale catch him instead.

It wasn’t enough. It was all too much.

Crowley’s knees refused to support him, and he could feel himself being crushed under the weight of realization. Aziraphale carefully lowered them both to the ground, unsure what had caused this, and unsure how to help.

Crowley felt the texture of the pavement dig into his skin as he struggled to support himself on his hands and knees. He was distantly aware of Aziraphale sitting on the ground next to him. They were finally safe enough for Crowley to let his guard down slightly. Enough for six thousand years worth of fear to finally catch up with him.

Aziraphale was here. He was safe. Crowley was safe. He was afraid.

Now that there was nothing left to be afraid of, he could let himself be afraid.

Aziraphale was saying something, but Crowley couldn’t focus. His entire world had narrowed down until all he could do was try to keep his arms from giving out. Long overdue tears filled his sunglasses and presumably landed on the sidewalk.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there. When Crowley regained awareness of his surroundings, the first thing he noticed was the steadying warmth of Aziraphale’s hand and its slow soothing motions against Crowley’s back. The second thing he noticed was his sunglasses were lying on the pavement.

Crowley’s arms gave out, but Aziraphale was there to catch him again.

He didn’t even have the energy to care that he was lying on his side, in the middle of a public walkway, hands covering his face, curled up and shaking. He didn’t know or care if people saw. There was no threat in being seen anymore. They didn’t have to hide.

After another wave of tears shook him to his core, Crowley was able to pull his thoughts together enough to form words. “Aziraphale? I don’t think I can drive like this.”

“It’s alright, dear. The folks who work here already called us a cab, it should be here any minute. We can wait here, or go inside if you like, or-“

“jus' ssstay 'ere, angel,” Crowley's voice came out in a quiet, unsteady muffled hiss that was still on the verge of tears. He didn’t want to move, so they stayed there.

One of the staff came out to check on them. The voice sounded familiar. Apparently the humans who worked there had somehow grown fond of them over the years without either of them noticing. This one seemed genuinely concerned.

Crowley hadn’t known humans could be concerned about demons as anything other than a potential threat, and it was enough to start Crowley crying all over again. Crying wasn’t entirely new, but it was frightening in it’s own way. The last time he cried was when he though Aziraphale was dead. The time before that was after six long hours spent watching a friend’s execution. He didn’t think he’d cried during the Flood, but only because nothing had seemed real at the time. He probably cried after the Fall but he didn’t want to look closely enough at the memory to find out.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he briefly remembered waking up in the backseat of a moving car, cradled in Aziraphale’s arms and being told to go back to sleep. He hadn't needed to be told twice. 

Now that he was awake again, Crowley weighed his options. He could wake up, and face whatever awaited him, or he could go back to sleep. Before he could decide, the choice was made for him by the angel he was currently resting on.

“Are you awake, Dearest?” Aziraphale whispered to the demon curled up against him on the sofa in his bookshop. He managed to carry Crowley in from the car without waking him, and had intended to deposit the sleeping tangle of limbs on the sofa. The angel still intended to do so eventually, but couldn’t quite bring himself to let go yet. Aziraphale had been holding him like this the entire night, and had no plans to move just yet.

“Hmn?” was the only sleepy mumble in response, followed by a yawn that caused a pair of previously hidden fangs to fold down into sight briefly before disappearing again. Crowley cracked one eye open and shot him an accusatory glare.

“Grouchy this mourning, aren’t we?” Aziraphale’s voice was teasing, but his smile soft.

Crowley assessed their surroundings before returning his serpentine gaze to Aziraphale. Hair an absolute mess, the demon in his arms offered an equally soft smile in return. “‘m not grouchy. Just a bit,” Crowley surveyed the bookshop again and shrugged, “It’s all just a bit… everything. You know?”

“I think so, Dear.”

“Called me ‘Dearest’ a minute ago,” Crowley pointed out.

“Was that alright?” Aziraphale hoped so. He’d wanted to do that for quite some time.

“Yeah…and Aziraphale? Last night I realized something,” Crowley was surprised at how easy this was to say, now that he actually could say it, “I realized we can have this now. Us. Whatever that is. And…” Crowley pushed past his instinct to change the subject, “I can finally tell you. We're allowed to say the thing now.”

Aziraphale was more than a little perplexed by all this.

“‘m serious. I’m gonna say it.” Crowley was still half asleep and there were probably better ways he could have done this but he was doing it now because he finally could, “I love you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything, and Crowley wondered if he’d made a horrible mistake when Aziraphale started to cry, but the angel just kissed him on the forehead and whispered, “Oh, Crowley. I love you so much it hurts. I’ve loved you for longer than I’ve known.”

They spent weeks like that. Curled up together, saying things they couldn’t until now. There were tears, and laughter, and the occasional shouting at God, but they helped each other through the worst of it.

They went back to pick up the Bentley, and found her exactly as they left her. Mostly because they expected to. And then they went to Crowley’s flat to check on his plants. Those were looking a bit worse for wear after their time away. Crowley just scowled and turned his back on them, deciding they were beyond saving but Aziraphale insisted he look again.

Sure enough, the plants appeared to have made a miraculous recovery in the space of a few seconds. Aziraphale was just about to point out that everyone deserved a second chance when the thought occurred to him.

They had just spent the better part of about forty days or so confiding in one another and during that time Aziraphale had admitted he wasn’t entirely sure he knew how to pray. He knew plenty of prayers. He even memorized most of the Psalms. He could recite the Lord’s Prayer and knew most of Catholicism’s greatest hit’s by rote. But that’s all it was. Words. Aziraphale loved words, and had found plenty of meaning in them over the years, but now they just felt empty and he didn’t know why.

It had been a bit of a surprise to have Crowley explain it so well.

“Sounds to me like the problem is you feel like your talking at God, instead of too God.” Crowley paused for a moment, “Tell me if I’m on the right track so far?”

Aziraphale nodded, waiting to see where this was going.

“Seems to me like you ought to just say what you mean. I know we don’t actually have to say it, because of the whole omniscience thing, but sometimes you just need to talk anyway.” Crowley paused and looked up for a moment, because if you stay on earth long enough you’re bound to pick up some habits from humans, “Sometimes you just have days where you need to try to pick a fight with God.”

At first, Aziraphale had been hesitant, but Crowley had offered to pray with him if he wanted. So they’d tried it. It has strange, at first. Saying what he felt rather than what he thought he should feel, but Crowley had started them off giving thanks for the chance to share this with Aziraphale. Aziraphale still didn’t quite know what to do, but as Crowley thanked God for returning Aziraphale to him safely, the angel finally felt like he understood.

It was strange, and uncomfortable, and Aziraphale wasn’t used to being quite so direct when contacting the Almighty, but it felt…honest. It felt right for them.

Afterwards, Aziraphale had said something that resulted in Crowley trying to make light of his inability to safely set foot inside a church, The demon had joked about preferring disorganized religion than organized religion, but something about that flippant remark had stayed with Aziraphale.

And he finally put it together after when restoring the plants when he told Crowley, “Everyone deserves a second chance dearest. Look, good as new. Not so much as a spot on them. ” 

Earlier that day when Aziraphale had been relearning how to talk to God, Crowley had called himself unforgivable. It wasn’t the first time Crowley had said that sort of thing either.

The moment they got back to the bookshop, Aziraphale began looking for answers to a question he should have thought to ask a long time ago. Once he was fairly certain he’d found those answers it was only a matter of figuring out how to share them with Crowley.

Aziraphale had to be careful. He knew better than to think he could understand God’s Ineffable plan. But he had faith, and that would have to be enough. Then again, going on faith alone tied in nicely with the point he was trying to make, now that he thought about it.

Yes, Crowley seemed to genuinely think that he was inherently beyond God’s ability to forgive, and Aziraphale had been warned repeatedly by other angels about the innately unforgivable nature of demons. But they had seen for themselves that even Gabriel was just operating based on the information he had and guess work.

The idea of calling anyone beyond God’s ability to forgive felt…blasphemous.

Aziraphale had decided to take things slowly. This was a process that required the utmost care, and Good Friday had originally seemed like the perfect time to broach the topic, but now Crowley was reliving old insecurities because of a human who been lead astray by irresponsible teachers.

“You will know them by their fruit…” Aziraphale mused.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” Crowley said from where he was driving the Bentley entirely too fast through central London.

“Oh, I was just thinking about the garden. I think you were right about the apple. That whole original sin business was a human invention and if they took the time to research it they’d find the same thing about those seven deadly sins. It really is a wonder how so many people who spend so much time talking about the Bible can spend so little time actually reading it. ”

Crowley pulled up to his flat and parked before turning to face him, “Normally, I would point out how that is way too long to be what you actually said, but right now I’m going to pass and just accept the complement. Besides, I’m much more interested in taking you up on that offer you made earlier. Assuming I get the chance to return the favor?”

“In that case, I suppose we ought to go inside.”

Crowley tried to talk him into the merits of car sex, but was eventually persuaded otherwise. After all, when the angel made a counter argument involving Crowley’s fancy chair and some equally fancy rope Aziraphale had apparently purchased for that exact purpose? Suffice it to say that if he hadn’t been in love before, he would have been after that.

“Good point. Inside. Now. Please, Angel?” 

Aziraphale laughed as Crowley almost tripped over himself in his rush, and any less than pleasant events of the day were soon forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at niche-pastiche on tumblr and I encourage y'all to stop by there and say hello if you feel like it.


End file.
